


A Hard Place

by Wuchel



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wuchel/pseuds/Wuchel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fusco finds himself in a very tight spot with only one way out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [A Hard Place 进退维谷](https://archiveofourown.org/works/966452) by [LeeDD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeDD/pseuds/LeeDD)



> Disclaimer: The characters of Person of Interest don't belong to me. I'm just borrowing them with no intention of gaining any profit by doing so.
> 
> A/N: This story takes place a couple of weeks after episode 2x07 "Critical", but it won't refer to any episodes aired before or after that particular episode.

It had been an unusual slow day at the precinct. Not that anyone would ever complain about it. More the opposite. Slow days were far too few in between and also meant less violence and death. Especially for the Detectives working the homicide task force. Detective Lionel Fusco was practically counting down the minutes to the time he could officially drop his pen and head home. The prospect of getting home early for a change and enjoying a quiet beer on his sofa put him in a good mood. With only twenty more minutes to go his chances of actually being able to go through with tonight's plans were looking decidedly good. Drumming his fingers on his desk he let his eyes wander the bull-pen. Apparently he was not the only one who'd decided that enough work had been done for the day, with waiting for quitting time the only task remaining. Until his gaze fell on the person occupying the desk across from his.

Detective Jocelyn Carter's head was the only one still diligently bent over reports and witness statements of one of her 37 open cases. Fusco shook his head, though he had to admire her dedication to the job. Watching her it was easy to understand why Wonderboy had chosen her to work with (or was it _for_?) him. Her innate sense of duty and doing what was right practically left her no choice but to help out whenever he called.

His cell phone chose that moment to ring. Fusco took a quick glance at the display and seeing a blocked number calling, he knew it could only mean either Wonderboy or his well-spoken friend were trying to reach him. He mentally groaned. With his luck they needed him to watch or babysit one of their charity cases for the remainder of the night. Cringing at that thought, Lionel decided to just let it ring. The ringing persisted for what seemed like minutes, earning him an annoyed look from Carter, which he also ignored. It finally stopped just to be replaced with a new happily chirping ring tone originating from Carter's coat pocket. 

Lionel shot her a look that tried to convey to her _not to answer the damn phone_ and she really understood where he was coming from. She'd been looking forward to spending some extended quality time alone tonight. Preferably soaking in a nice and warm foamy bath, listening to music and enjoying a glass of wine or maybe two. She'd already gone so far to call her son and asking him to stay at his grandma's tonight. 

As great as it all sounded Joss was pretty sure that if she wasn't to answer her guy in a suit's call now, he'd probably be breaking down her front door with his guns blazing while she was basking in her foamy delight. Sighing, she dropped her pen and pulled out the offending object. She heard Fusco groan, but chose to ignore him answering the phone instead.

Fusco watched Carter turn her body away from him as she took the call. Even though they had known that they were both secretly working for the same guy for a while now, Carter's instincts were still to enter stealth mode whenever Mr. Vocabulary or his intimidating sidekick gave her a call. A sure tell, which Fusco had picked up on pretty fast. This time, though, he didn't even try to hide his eavesdropping on Carter's side of the conversation.

"Yeah? ... Good evening to you, too, John." she fell silent for a few seconds, listening to the other side. Then she shot Fusco a pointed glance as she said "Because maybe he didn't take his cell with him to the restroom."  
The rest of the conversation consisted of her uttering a few "Uh huh"-s and jotting something down on a piece of paper. Finally she told him that they'd be there and dropped her phone back into her pocket.

"Lemme guess?" Lionel groused testily. 

"He wants to meet." Carter affirmed is suspicion, then added, "tonight."

"Of course he does!" Fusco threw up his arms in frustration and lent back into his office chair, crossing his arms across his chest. He looked like a petulant kid about to throw a temper tantrum. After a few seconds of what could be considered pouting he pointed an accusing finger at her. "You just had to answer that call."

"Well, I'm sorry. I had different plans for tonight, too, you know?"

Fusco visibly deflated, "Fine. Where and when is the meeting supposed to go down?"

Carter held up the piece of sticky note she'd scribbled on while on the phone. "At this address in an hour."

Fusco got up and moved over to her desk. He snapped the note out of her fingers and read the address. "Where the hell is this supposed to be?"

"Knowing our mutual friend's penchant for isolated meeting spots, I'd say it's somewhere far off the beaten path." Carter supplied with a smile.

"Whatever." Grabbing his coat Fusco made a bee line for the exit.

"Hey, Fusco, where are you going?" Joss called after him. They still had ten more minutes on the clock.

"Logging out early," Lionel tossed over his shoulder. "At least I want to get something decent to eat before having my evening ruined."

Carter just arched an eyebrow and watched Fusco's back until he disappeared through the squad room doors.

________________________________________________________________________

Fusco took his sweet time getting to the meeting place, hoping Carter would beat him there. He didn't want to have to spend too much time alone with the ex-CIA-killer ... or whatever he was. The thought of having to try to make small-talk to John Reese made him wince. _Sooo, killed anyone lately?_ Yeah, that would go over just swell. 

Still, when he finally did arrive there was no sign of Carter having made it before him. There was no sign of John Reese either, but Fusco knew better than to be relieved. He would bet all his money that the guy was lurking around here somewhere.

He turned off his car and decided to wait right where he was. He didn't have to wait long before a second car – not Carter's he noted – arrived and stopped right behind his. Lionel looked into the rear mirror and watched as John Reese got out of his car. Surrendering to his fate, the Detective sighed and exited his vehicle, as well.

"Carter should be here any minute.“ Fusco said as he neared the man he called the Bane of his Existence.

"And a nice day to you, too, Detective.“ Reese greeted with one of those expressions Fusco just did not know how to interpret. Was he making a jibe or was he barely containing his urge to rip Fusco's head off? Lionel just didn't know. He decided to stay at a safe distance and mumbled "Yeah, whatever.“ John just smirked at him. 

Trying to distract the other man from his uneasiness Fusco rubbed his hands together before firmly placing them in his coat pockets. It was going to be a damn cold night again and he really hoped his plans for a relaxed evening at home on his sofa with a couple of beers weren't going to be ruined by whatever Mr. Dark and Mysterious wanted them to do for him. But considering Reese's history of not really caring about how inconveniencing he might be to the Detectives, Fusco didn't hold up any hopes of having his butt actually meet any soft cushioning tonight. He wanted to sigh again but he felt himself being watched by the other man.

Fusco couldn't help himself. The quiet was making him nervous to no end. "It's freezing.“ _Nice, Lionel. Go ahead and state the obvious_.  
He had to wince at his terrible attempt at small talk. Reese shot him a look that clearly stated 'No shit, Sherlock'. Within seconds Lionel's nervousness changed into crass annoyance. All he wanted to be doing right now, was to sit down somewhere warm and relax. Waiting in a dark, desolate alley with Mr. Happy over there and freezing his butt off was not his idea of having a good time.

"What do you want us to do for you this time?“

"Let's wait until Detective Carter gets here, shall we? I would hate having to repeat myself.“ Reese half whispered.

Sometimes Fusco wondered if the guy was even capable of speaking at a normal level of tone. Probably got almost strangled one too many times. He had to snort at that thought, which made Reese arch one of his eyebrows. "Is something funny, Detective?“

"Uhm, nah.“

John continued to look at him with that unnerving expression of his for a couple more seconds before his eyes started to roam over their surroundings. Probably searching for possible threats, Lionel thought. Old habits died hard.

Where the hell was Carter?

Before Fusco could start another disastrous attempt at conversation he was literally saved by the bell. He pulled out his cell phone and checked the display. He was surprised to see his son's name as the caller's ID.

He looked up at Reese and said in way of an apology "Sorry, I've got to take this.“ Not waiting for any signs of acknowledgement from Reese Lionel turned around, hit the accept button and put the phone to his ear. "What's up, Buddy?“

Then he froze.


	2. Chapter 2

John Reese had to admit it. It amused him tremendously to see Detective Lionel Fusco squirm. And it took so little, too. The silent treatment accompanied by a few well practiced threatening looks and you could practically smell the Detective's discomfort.

John watched relief flash across the Detective's face as his cell phone rang, giving him an excuse to turn around and putting even more distance between them. With the Detective's back turned to him he allowed his patented scowl to morph into a full-fledged smirk. 

He let his eyes roam his surroundings again. Fusco had been right with one thing, it was freezing. Reese suppressed the urge to check his watch. He knew when Carter had left the precinct. The information having been supplied by Finch, who'd been keeping an eye on the precinct via the 'Detective cam'. It should only be a matter of minutes for her to arrive. 

He'd chosen this alley between two abandoned apartment buildings for its remoteness. Ensuring them privacy from prying eyes and ears. There were no street lights anywhere nearby, which let to the alley slowly being consumed by complete darkness as dusk inevitably gave way to the night.

There should be no soul out wandering this god forsaken neighbourhood, but you could never be sure. John continued to scan his surroundings and even in the rapidly fading light he could see that there was something off about Detective Fusco's posture. He looked stiff, tense even, and he seemed to be hunched over his phone. Not how you would picture a father talking to his son.

Intrigued, John pulled out his phone and opened his blue-jack connection to the Detective's cell. It didn't take long for him to realize that the caller was in fact most definitely not Lee Fusco. He didn't know who Fusco was talking to, but he certainly didn't like what he was hearing. He tapped his ear piece "Finch, are you listening to this?“

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Hello, Lionel.“

Fusco stiffened at the sound of the voice that did not belong to his son. "Who is this?“ he hissed into his phone. He felt his heart speed up and his apprehension level rising. 

Before he could say another word the voice continued calmly, "If you value your son's health and well being I suggest you do as I say.“

Lionel's heart sank. He closed his eyes and said "What do you want? Where's my son?“

"You are with the man in the suit right now, aren't you?“ Fusco's head began to spin. Had he been followed? "Don't try to lie, Detective, I can see you both right now.“ _Damn it!_

"Where's my son?“ Lionel asked again.

"Your son is save … for now. And he'll stay that way as long as you do as you are told. Try not to raise your 'friend's' suspicion, Lionel.“ The _'he's not my friend'_ lay on Lionel's tongue, but he bit down on it. He got more important things to consider right now, than how he was being affiliated to John Reese.

"I'm not gonna do anything as long as you don't proof to me that my son's OK.“

Fusco had a hard time keeping his voice down. He really wanted to yell right now.  
He heard rustling at the other end of the line before a small voice could be heard. "Dad?“

"Lee! Buddy! Are you alright?“ He tried to sound calm for his son's sake, but hearing Lee cry nearly broke his heart.

"I'm scared, Dad.“

"I know you are. But it's going to be OK, I promise. It's going to be OK.“

The rustling was back and Fusco nearly yelled. "Lee?!“

"Now you have your proof, Detective.“ The calm of the voice was chilling. Lionel swallowed hard. "What do you want?“ he croaked.

"It's quit simple, Lionel. Your 'friend' has been a thorn in the side of a lot of powerful people lately. And quite frankly, they are getting tired of his annoying habit of meddling with their affairs. They were rather surprised to learn that you are frequently meeting with him, maybe even working for the guy, since you are supposedly working for them, Lionel.“ 

That confirmed Fusco's suspicion. HR.

"Now, you have to understand, my clients are a little confused as to where your loyalties lie. And to make sure you will choose wisely, Lee here is going to help you with your decision making.“

Fusco got this sinking feeling that he was definitely not going to like what was coming next. The cold forgotten, he could feel beats of sweat rolling down his back.

The voice continued unperturbed, "What I want you to do now, Lionel, is for you to take out your gun and shoot him.“

"What?!“ This time he did yell. "I ...“

"Remember, your son's life is at stake.“ _Yeah, like I would forget._

Subconsciously, Fusco turned his head to where he'd last seen John Reese. He was still there. Looking directly at him with squinted eyes and with his right hand at his ear.

_Oh damn, he knows._

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Harold Finch was a little surprised to hear from John Reese so soon again. He figured Mr. Reese to check in after the meeting with the two Detectives, and that could not have been over so quick. Intrigued, he answered the call after the first ring.

"Yes, Mr. Reese?“

"Finch, are you listening to this?“

Slightly perplexed Finch asked, "Listening to what?“

"Fusco has just received a call,“ was all Reese said.

Finch had been aware of the call, but hadn't deemed it necessary to listen to the Detective talking to his son. It seemed he'd been mistaken. He opened the channel and listened. It didn't take him long to realize what was going on.

"Oh God.“

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"I'm tracing the call.“ Finch said in his ear.

"Good. Where's Carter right now?“ John asked. He could hear Finch hitting his keyboard.

"She's close. About three minutes out.“ Finch said.

"Get her on the line and tell her to stay put. I think the kidnapper is close by. We might need her to interfere.“

John tried to look around inconspicuously. He already knew they were being watched.

"I'm on it.“

While Finch was busy informing Detective Carter of this little situation, John turned his attention back to what was being said between Fusco and the mystery man. He didn't like where things were going. He'd tuned back in just in time to hear about the part of him being a nuisance to certain people. He wasn't surprised to figure out that this was HR's doing. As well as he wasn't really surprised to hear the kidnapper's demand. HR was just one fraction of a very long list of people trying to get him dead. Permanently.

He saw the Detective's head shoot around to look at him, fear and desperation evidently recognizable on the man's face, even in the semi darkness. In a split second Fusco's expression changed. Lionel's eyes widened as the realization dawned on him that John had been listening in. 

_Yes, Lionel. I know what's going on._

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Finch could swear his heart skipped a beat when he heard the kidnapper's demand. What felt to him like the millionth time within the last ten seconds Finch checked the progress of the call tracing software. Feeling quite helpless he watched the program do its thing without having yielded any results yet. He tried to quell the feeling of uneasiness that was slowly spreading through his stomach. 

"Mr. Reese? I'm still running the trace. Detective Carter is standing by.“ After a short pause he felt compelled to add, "Try to stall him, John.“

"I'll do my best.“ came the clipped reply.

Finch pressed his lips together, mentally urging the program to hurry the hell up.


	3. Chapter 3

Lionel didn't know what to do. Talk about finding yourself between a rock and a hard place. He was certain John knew what was being asked of him. And if John knew than Four-Eyes knew, as well. He saw John's lips move as he was most likely talking to his boss. John shot him a look that Lionel didn't know how to decipher. But before he could think about it more his attention was pulled back to the phone pressed to his ear. 

"Lionel? Are you still there?“

"Yes.“ He croaked, his mouth having turned dry as a desert all of a sudden. "I'm still here.“

"Good. Now, here are the rules. I want you to shoot and kill your 'friend'. If you attempt anything, if you miss, your son dies. If you shoot to wound but not to kill, your son dies. If you let him get the drop on you, your son dies. Do you understand?“

Fusco closed his eyes. Trying hard to quell his rising panic.

"Do you understand?“ The tone hardened.

"Yes.“ Fusco's voice was shaky. "I understand.“

"Good. You have five minutes. I'll tell you where you'll be able to find your son when you are done. Do not disconnect this call.“

Fusco nodded, not able to think straight anymore. He put his phone on speaker and returned it to his coat pocket. Then, he reached for his gun.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Reese listened closely as the kidnapper relayed his rules to Detective Fusco. If he didn't want to be responsible for Lee Fusco's death, he was screwed. He nearly jumped as Finch's voice came through his ear-piece. "Got him! He's in the building across the street from the alley. I'll alert Detective Carter immediately.“

Reese turned his head to look at the building in question. How the hell did the guy know where they were going to meet? He'd worry about that later. To have the alley in sight unimpeded there were only a few possible windows from which the kidnapper could be watching from. He squinted his eyes. There! 

"Finch, tell Carter second floor, third window from the left.“

He didn't wait for Finch to acknowledge, for his attention was drawn back to where Fusco was standing by the sound of a gun being cocked. He could see the hand holding the gun shaking. John raised his hands to shoulder height, trying to convey to Fusco that he was not going to be a threat.

"Lionel.“ he said calmly and watched as Fusco's brow creased in desperation. For the kidnapper's ears John decided to play dumb, trying to stall as much as possible. "Lionel, if you don't like meeting after your bedtime you know we can talk about it.“ Confusion flitted across Fusco's face before it became an unreadable mask.

"Detective Carter has entered the building, John. Keep on stalling.“ Finch informed him. To everybody else Finch's voice would have sounded like somebody reading out loud the weather forecast of today's newspaper. But John had learned to listen to his friend's tells. Finch was definitely agitated. 

He was surprised how fast Carter had gotten there, though it did look like it was not going to be fast enough. 

"John, I'm sorry … they've got my son. I ...“ Fusco trailed off as he took aim. Reese didn't even blink an eye at the Detective's actions. He just stood there, with his arms raised at his sides and allowing his face and body to loose all its tension. To Fusco he looked almost serene. 

"It's OK, Lionel.“ John said in his near whisper and Fusco had to strain his ears to be able to hear him over the noise of his blood rushing through his veins. "I understand. You have to do what you have to do to protect your family.“


	4. Chapter 4

When Joss Carter received the call from John's bespectacled friend that something unexpected was going on with her partner and John she'd almost arrived at the appointed meeting place. She'd been instructed to halt immediately and to await further instructions and even though she hated being left in the dark, the clipped tone with which Mr. Finch spoke told her that something serious was going on and she better did as she was told.

The area John had chosen as a meeting place could only be described as desolate. Though this attribute probably made it into the perfect place for a secret meeting in the eyes of a paranoid ex-CIA agent. 

Sitting in her car in the dark she didn't have to wait long for Finch to call her back and fill her in. She cursed.

"What do you want me to do?“ she asked.

"For now, sit and wait, Detective.“ replied Finch. "I'm running a trace to find out the location of the kidnapper and hopefully Detective Fusco's son will be near by.“

"But John said that he thought the guy should be close, right?“

"Yes, Detective.“

"Then I'll go ahead and try to sneak closer to their position. As soon as you have the location you'll let me know.“

"Of course I will.“ Finch sounded almost affronted, but Joss didn't really care. She got out of her car and went to her trunk. She donned her bullet-proof vest and picked up a few additional clips for her gun. After closing the trunk again she leaned with both arms on the lid, trying to collect herself.

Going into a hostage situation without back-up and no real information about pretty much anything. Just great. The things she would do for John Reese.

She sighed, pushed herself off the trunk lid and stalked through the semi darkness in the general direction of where she was sure all hell would break loose pretty soon.

She kept herself to the shadows. Finally squatting down behind a dumpster at the other side of the street across the opening of the alley. She could make out two cars parked in front of the alley, but couldn't spy John or Fusco anywhere from where she was hiding.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and answered it. 

"Yeah?“

"I've located the kidnapper's phone. He's in the building right behind you. Mr. Reese seems to have spotted him on the second floor, third window to the left.“

"Third window from the left, second floor. Alright. I'll go and check it out.“ She started to creep towards the front door, hugging the wall. "I'm going to leave the line open.“ 

"Good. And Detective?“

"Yes?“

"It seems hurrying up might be in order.“

"Great.“

Joss put her phone back into her pocket and proceeded to enter the building. As fast and as quiet as she could she made her way up the stairs to the second floor. She took a quick look around the hall but didn't see anyone else lurking in the shadows. The kidnapper must be alone, she thought, adding a quick prayer of thanks. 

There were several apartment doors on either side of the hallway. Some of the doors were gaping open, the apartments having been ram sacked a long time ago. She thanked her lucky stars for the old, musty carpet still lining the floor and muffling her steps. 

As she reached the second to last door on the side facing the alley she stopped and pressed her ear against it. Even though her heart beat all the way up to her ears she was able to hear muffled talking on the other side of the door. This is it.

With no time to waste and her gun at the ready she kicked in the ram shackled door and found herself face to face with the silhouette of a man looking out the window of what appeared to have once upon a time been the living room of the apartment. She pointed her gun at the man and yelled "NYPD! FREEZE!“

Then everything happened so fast. The man in front of her went for his weapon while the unmistakable sound of a gun going off nearby could be heard. Joss didn't hesitate and pulled her trigger. The man was hit twice in the chest and his body was thrown back against the wall by the force of the bullet impacts. Making her way over to the slumped figure, she kicked away the dropped gun. Reaching down she felt for a pulse, finding none. Then she checked the other room for more assailants but found it all clear.

So far, there had been no sign of the boy. But there was still one more room left to check. She went into the small bathroom and there she found Lee Fusco. Tied up and gagged with duck tape he was huddled up in the tub. She went over to Lee and carefully removed the tape around his wrists and off his mouth. Then she took the trembling boy into her arms and let him cry on her shoulder. She held him tight to her body with one arm while with the other she was fishing for her cell. 

"I've got him! He's safe.“ She practically yelled into the phone. "Finch? Did you hear? I've got the boy!“

"Yes, Detective. I heard you.“ came the reluctant reply. "But I'm afraid we were too late.“


	5. Chapter 5

"It's OK, Lionel. I understand. You have to do what you have to do to protect your family.“

Finch couldn't believe what he was hearing. To him it sounded like Reese was giving Fusco the permission to shoot him. That was definitely NOT okay. "John, what are you doing?“ he asked and didn't care that he sounded flustered. "You have to keep stalling him. Detective Carter is almost there.“

"We are running out of time.“ John's low voice needlessly informed him. Harold was quite aware that the five minute deadline was nearing its end.

"John …“ Harold felt immensely useless. All he could do was to sit there at his computers and listen while holding his breath. He closed his eyes as the kidnapper chose to remind everyone of his presence.

"Thirty seconds.“

 

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John felt a familiar calm come over him. He'd felt like this a couple of times before. On each occasion he'd been facing death. He was not afraid to die. Hell, part of him – a big one – was surprised he had made it this far. And as strange as it sounded, but he really was OK with dying here, for the Detective's son. At least he'd die for a good cause. Though, he doubted that it would in anyway help redeem all the things he had done in the line of his former work under the pretence of serving God and country.

Finch's flustered voice brought him back from his musings. "John, what are you doing? You have to keep stalling him. Detective Carter is almost there.“

John watched the hand holding the gun on him tremble. He held contact with the scared eyes of the man in front of him and for both Finch's and Fusco's benefit he said in a calm and low voice "We are running out of time.“

"John ...“ Finch obviously was at a loss for words. At that moment the voice of the kidnapper came over the speaker of the Detective's phone. 

"Thirty seconds.“

The shaking of the gun visibly stabilized as Fusco took aim for John's heart.

"Twenty seconds.“

John's unblinking gaze never left Fusco's eyes. He saw as the fear slowly transformed into determination and John started to smile.

"Ten …“

"Nine ...“

"Eight ...“

"Seven ...“

Fusco's finger tightened around the trigger.

"Six …“

"Five ...“

"Four ...“

"Three …“

John closed his eyes.

"Two!“

All of a sudden there was a loud bang accompanied by the sound of wood splintering and Carter's voice yelling "NYPD! FREEZE!“

John's eyes snapped opened just in time to see Fusco's eyes widening in shock. Fusco had been in the process of pulling the trigger. The gun went off followed by two more gunshots that could be heard both over the phone and in the distance. Something hard slammed into Reese's right chest with so much force that he was knocked back off of his feet. He hit the ground hard, all the air being forced out of his lungs.  
For a couple of seconds John just lay there, dazed. He marvelled at the fact that there was no pain. He'd been shot a multiple times before and there had always been pain. And that he'd been shot ... well, there was no doubt about that.  
He became aware of a heavy weight on his chest and slowly panic began setting in as he realized he couldn't breathe.  
John could hear Finch's voice in his head frantically calling out his name, but he couldn't speak. He tasted copper in his mouth and started to gag. Finally, he was able to draw some air into his starving lungs but it felt like not nearly enough. 

John stared up into the cloudless sky. The first stars were becoming visible as the last rays of sunlight were driven out of the sky by the encroaching darkness. The edges around his vision became more and more fuzzy and he felt his mind slowly drifting off. He was jolted back to reality as Fusco's face filled what was left of his vision. The Detective lip's moved, but John couldn't make out what he was saying. Fusco put his hands on John's chest and pushed down hard causing John's world to explode into one of excruciating pain.

 

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Lionel Fusco had pushed all his thoughts out of his mind. His entire world only consisted of the man in front of him, down the barrel of his gun and of the voice counting down. Though he considered John Reese the Bane of his Existence he really didn't want to do this. The man didn't deserve to be gunned down like this. But Fusco knew he had no choice and judging by the smile tugging at the other man's lips, John Reese had accepted his fate. Still, that didn't make Lionel feel any better about this whole situation. 

As the countdown reached the single digits Lionel's finger tightened around the trigger. He would wait as long as possible for a miracle to manifest itself. The voice reached 'two' and Lionel let out a breath and squeezed down on the trigger. But before the kidnapper announced the next number a bang could be heard on the kidnapper's side of the connection and Carter's voice yelling.

It was too late for Fusco to stop his trigger-finger. He jerked his arm in a last ditch effort to throw off his aim and watched in horrified fascination as something slammed hard into Reese's right chest, knocking him off his feet.

_Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. SHIT!!!_

Fusco put his gun back in its holster and fumbled for his phone in his coat pocket. He pressed it to his ear and listened. "Hello?“

Silence was his only answer. He pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it. He didn't know how long he'd stared but jumped as it started ringing of its own accord. He didn't remember disconnection the previous call, but he had no head to think about it right now. With trembling fingers he accepted the incoming call and pressed the phone back to his ear. "Hello?“

"Detective?“ Finch guy's matter-of-fact voice greeted him, delivering the words he so desperately needed to hear. "Your son is safe. Detective Carter's got him.“

Lionel squeezed his eyes shut and breathed "Oh thank God.“  
The relief at hearing his son was save lasted only a couple of short seconds as he remembered what he had done. "Shit! I, I, I shot him.“ he stuttered, his words jumbling together as he sprinted over to John's prone form. As far as Fusco could tell Reese hadn't moved. 

_Shit!_

Even in the fading light Fusco could see a dark stain spreading over John's white dress shirt. Reese had worn a dark unbuttoned coat over his usual suit get-up, its labels now gaping open.

"He's not moving! I need to call an ambulance.“ He was about to remove the phone from his ears when Finch's sharp exclamation stopped him.

"You will do no such thing!“

"What? Why? He needs help!“ Fusco yelled at the other man. Hearing and seeing John's struggle to breathe made him sick to his stomach. 

"Let that be my worry, Detective. I would appreciate it if you could aid Mr. Reese as much as it is in your power until proper help arrives. Can you do that, Detective?“

How in the hell could that guy sound so calm and collected? Fusco himself was near a full-fledged panic attack. He'd to forcibly calm himself down.

"Yeah, yeah. I can do that … I will do that.“ Fusco noted that John's eyes were slowly closing. " Tell whoever you are going to send to hurry up.“ he said before dropping his phone into his pocket. 

He got down on his knees and pulled Reese's coat and dress jacket all the way to the side to expose the entry wound. John's eyes were halfway closed already and a trickle of blood was making its way from his mouth down his left cheek.

"Hey John! Stay with me.“ Fusco begged to no avail as John's eyelids continued their downwards movement. "Oh no, you don't!“ Lionel yelled and pressed his hands down hard on the bleeding wound. 

That elicited a moan from the fallen man and his eyes snapped open. "There you go.“ Fusco said, increasing his effort of stopping the bleeding. "You just have to stay awake, John. Just stay awake.“

All Fusco could do now was to wait and pray that Finch's help would get here in time as John Reese's blood seeped through his fingers and began to slowly form a puddle around his body.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to note that even though I watched House religiously for eight years I still know next to nothing about medicine or medical procedure, except that it is never Lupus and only occasionally Vasculitis. Anything medicine related in this and following chapters I wrote because I thought it might sound dramatic, and I'm pretty sure it's far off being anywhere near correct or realistic. If you are a stickler about medical correctness, then I'm sorry, but I just don't know better.
> 
> If you are as ignorant such as myself, please go on and enjoy.

Finch didn't remember getting up, but he found himself standing in front of his computer equipment calling out John's name. He received no reply. Bear, who had so far been critically eyeing his master's increasing agitation from his doggy bed, had jumped up and was now dancing nervously from one front paw to the other, whimpering. 

Finch had no time and mind to calm down the dog as Carter's voice boomed from one of the loudspeakers informing him that she had the boy. Harold dropped back down into his chair. He couldn't believe how fast everything had gone to hell tonight.

Tonight was not supposed to be even close to dangerous. Just a meeting between Reese and the two Detectives, where John had planned to hand out their respective assignments for today's new number. How the hell had HR gotten wind of the meeting?

"Finch? Did you hear? I've got the boy!“

Harold reached over to activate the microphone. "Yes, Detective. I heard you. But I'm afraid we were too late.“

He heard Carter sucking in a breath. At the same time Fusco was yelling for the kidnapper to reply on the other channel. Harold told Carter to get the kid out of the building and down to Detective Fusco. Then he disconnected both lines, Carter's and Fusco's, and immediately called Lionel's cell phone number.

He instructed the distraught Detective not to call for help and ordered him to see to Mr. Reese. There was no time to waste in putting his emergency plan into action. This time he was a lot better prepared than when Reese had been severely injured by Snow's gunman about a year ago. Having paid for a wing or two at a local hospital was really going to pay off.

His call was answered by the second ring. "Hello?"

"Dr. Matheson? Harold Crane speaking. I need you to implement the protocols we've discussed. And would you please send our ambulance to the following address?” He passed him the address. “Thank you." 

Harold disconnected the call without waiting for a reply. The good doctor should know what to do.  
Finch had been very impressed by the discretion displayed by New York General Hospital and its staff when a couple of weeks ago the social security number of its top trauma surgeon had been brought up by the machine. Apparently money did not just buy you the name rights to a few hospital wings and with the right amount Harold had been able to struck a deal. With one call he was ensured to receive total discretion, the best care and no question asked whatsoever. Although, he was dismayed at having to call in the hospital's service so soon already. 

Even though he'd always tried to avoid calling in outside help for their little venture, this situation left him no choice but to place a call to his "clean-up" service to take care of the kidnapper's body. Better to have it disappear than having to explain how two bullets of a NYPD Detective's gun had ended up in the corpse of an HR goon. All the time he kept an ear on the police scanner, making sure that nobody reported the shots fired. Though he would be surprised if anyone did. Mr. Reese did choose that spot for a reason after all. Still, this was _such_ a mess.

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Even though Carter knew that something had gone terribly wrong tonight she wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted her when she reached the alley. Fusco was kneeling over a body, obviously applying pressure to a wound. Guiding Lee to walk behind her she drew closer and became aware of two things. A) Fusco was applying pressure to a chest wound; B) the body Fusco was bent over was wearing a suit.

"Oh no." she whispered. 

Turning around she knelt down so she could be on eye level with the boy. "Lee, honey, just wait here, alright? I'll get your dad."

The boy nodded, his eyes wide with fear. New tears were running down his face and Joss wiped them away with her thumbs trying to sooth him she smiled at him. "It's OK. Everything is fine." She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince more, the boy or herself?

Getting up she moved to stand in front of her partner. John looked terrible. Even worse than the one time in the parking structure, she thought. He was deathly pale. His eyes were open but glassy and seemingly unseeing. Deep lines of pain marred his usually passive face. There was a huge bloodstain on his dress shirt around were Fusco was pressing down with both his hands. His breathing was laboured and accompanied by a gurgling sound. 

Joss had seen enough wounded men and women to know that he was hanging on by a mere thread and with each minute that passed his chances of surviving this night, this alley, were converging to zero.

She knelt down beside John and put her hands over Fusco's. Fusco looked up at her, his eyes wide and his face almost as pale as John's. 

"I didn't have a choice." he croaked. Shock was written all over his face. 

"Fusco, I'll take over. Go, get your son."

Lionel looked at her unsure of what to do. He was afraid if he let go that the last drop of life would leave John Reese. Joss pressed down harder to get her point across. "I got this. Go."

Seeing his tear streaked son's face Lionel nodded at Joss. "OK." He let go and sat back on his hunches trying to wipe off the blood from his hands on his knees. It wouldn't come off.

"Fusco, did you call an ambulance?" Carter asked as John moaned in pain. Fusco shook his head.

"No. He said not to."

"Who did?"

"His weird friend ... Finch? He said he'd take care of it. Of the entire mess." Getting up he took his crying son into his arms, shielding him from the gruesome sight in front of him. In the distance Joss could hear sirens approaching.

"John? C'mon, stay with me. Help's almost here." she told him. John blinked a few times and then managed to turn his head to look at her. Where he found the energy she didn't know, but he moved his left arm across his body and placed it on top of her hands. He gently squeezed her hand. Then his entire body went slack and his eyes rolled back into his head.

Joss felt pure panic taking over. "John!" she yelled frantically. "John!"

She hadn't noticed the arrival of the ambulance but suddenly two strong arms pulled her off of John Reese. "NO!" 

Her instinct was to struggle against being manhandled away from the bleeding man, but the voice of the paramedic in her ear telling her that they were just trying to help made her cease her resistance and he let go of her. The second EMT unloaded a whole bunch of medical equipment beside John. The entire scene was being illuminated by the headlights of the ambulance. Blue and white light flickering across the walls and ground around them bathing everything in an eerie glow. 

The second EMT, whose nametag read Muller, looked at her and asked "What have we got?"

"Uhm ..." _C'mon, Joss, get your brain in order_ \- she scolded herself. Taking a deep breath she went into 'cop-mode'.

"Single GSW to the chest. The right chest. He's been having trouble breathing. He was conscious until about a minute ago."

The EMT nodded and moved his fingers to John's throat. _C'mon John._

"Heartbeat faint and irregular." he told his partner, who had already started to prepare an IV with fluids to replace what had already been lost. While he was getting the IV started, Muller went ahead and ripped apart John's dress shirt to expose his chest. All Joss could see was a bloody mess and she had to closed her eyes.

Muller took out a stethoscope and listened to both sides of John's chest. "No breathing sounds on his right side. O2 levels are down. We need to intubate."

The first EMT, who had been fiddling with the IV thrust the bag of liquids into Joss' hand. "Here, hold this. Squeeze gently. That's good."

He got up and returned shortly after with a backboard and within seconds they had the board underneath Reese's body. The first EMT, whose name Joss never got, tilted John's head back and held a flashlight so his partner could see more clearly. By the light of the flashlight Joss could see that John's lip had taken on a blue tint. 

_I don't think he's going to make it this time_ \- the unwelcomed thought shot through Joss' head. Don't go there.

Within minutes of their arrival they had John intubated and had strapped a pressure bandage across his chest. Joss was still holding the IV bag when they placed John on a stretcher and hurried him towards the ambulance. All the time the first EMT continuously pushing air into John's lung. 

They lifted John in head first and Joss was about to get in with him, when the second EMT - Muller - gently stopped her from entering. He took away the IV bag and told her "We've got it from her on."

"Where are you taking him?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not at liberty to say. But we have to get moving. Now!"

With that the ambulance doors were closed in her face and it sped away into the night.


	7. Chapter 7

Finch had been listening to the proceedings in that alley via the microphone in Carter's cell phone. Somehow the connection to John's cell had been lost. He listened intently as Carter started to yell John's name. By the sound of her voice he could only imagine the worst. 

Bear had sidled up to Harold, whining softly and picking up on his master's distress. Harold had almost forgotten about the dog but welcomed the comfort of its warm fur and loyal presence. Bear nuzzled Harold's knee and placed his head on his thigh. He lay his hand on the soft fur of the dog's head and continued to listen to the back and forth of the EMTs. He was relieved to learn that apparently John was still alive. Though barely. Hearing the ambulance drive away he reached for his mouse to place a call to Detective Carter. 

 

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Carter was dumbly staring after the receding ambulance. The sounds of its sirens and the flashing lights fading fast into the darkness.  
She jumped as her phone rang. Without bothering to check the display she accepted the call.

“Hello?” Even to her own ears she sounded dazed.

“Detective.”

“Where are they taking him?” she asked.

“Somewhere safe and where he'll receive the best care possible, Detective.” Finch stated matter-of-factly. 

Joss closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation. “You are not going to tell me, are you?”

“No. I'm sorry. As long as I don't know how HR knew about where John was supposed to meet with you Detectives I'll think it's safest to refrain from sharing that information with anyone… How are Detective Fusco and his son?”

Joss turned to the cars parked at the alley entrance. Fusco had let Lee away. No need for the boy to witness what could well have turned into a death scene. Lionel had deposited his son on the back seat of his car and was crouching in front of him, softly reassuring him that he was save now.

“Shaken, but otherwise OK.” Hell, 'shaken' did so not suffice to even describe how they all felt.

“That's good to hear.” Finch sounded sincere, his voice turning soft. “Go home, Detectives. Everything is being taken care of. There is nothing you can do tonight.”

“What about the stuff John wanted to talk about tonight? I mean, somebody's in trouble, right?”

“I commend your eagerness to help, Detective, but there are more pressing matters to worry about tonight. I will contact you tomorrow.” He sounded tired and resigned. 

Joss figured that her own current hyper awareness was solely due to the heightened levels of adrenalin in her bloodstream. From experience she knew that state wouldn't last long.

“OK ...” she pinched the bridge of her nose. “You know it's not looking good.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You call me if there are any news on John.” she practically demanded.

“I will. I promise.”

And with that the line went dead.

 

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Finch disconnected the call to the Detective and sat unmoving, collecting his thoughts. His gaze fell on the smiling face of their newest number. John had taped the picture on their glass board just a few hours before, though now it felt like a lifetime ago. Bear whimpered and Finch looked down. The dog looked just pitiful and Harold could swear it understood that something really bad had happened to his other master. Taking Bear's head in both of his hands and slowly scratching behind his ears he told him softly “He's going to be OK. John …” His voice wanted to crack on John's name and Harold had do fight hard to keep is despair in check. “He's going to be OK.”

He patted Bear on the head once more before getting up and collecting his coat and laptop. With his coat folded over his left arm he paused to look at the smiling face once more. 

“I'm sorry,” he said, “but I'm afraid no one is going to be watching out for you tonight.”

Then he grabbed his laptop bag and swiftly left for New York General Hospital.


	8. Chapter 8

Dr. Maddy Enright had been on regular call duty when she received the call that her expertise was going to be needed for a 'security sensitive' emergency. Even while her patient was still en route parts of the surgical wing were being cordoned off for the general public and even for most of the hospital staff.

Maddy was slightly curious who the patient might be to warrant such a tight security lock down. She and her team were already waiting at the emergency bay doors as the ambulance carrying the mysterious patient finally arrived and they immediately sprang into action. 

The back doors flew open and Maddy got a glimpse of one technician performing CPR. This was bad, very bad.

Together they heaved the stretcher out of the van enabling Maddy to get her first good look at the patient and her heart literally skipped a beat when she realized she knew the man fighting for his life in front of her.   
He was the guy who, together with that rich donor – Harold, she remembered – had saved her wife's life and saved her from having to become a murderer only a couple of weeks ago. 

He looked terrible. His skin was whiter than the sheets underneath him and his lips had taken on an unhealthy hue of blue. As soon as the stretcher was on firm ground again the EMT continued his CPR efforts while a second EMT rhythmically pumped air into the patient's lungs.

Maddy shook herself out of the trance and took charge.

“What have we got?” she yelled to no one in particular. One of the techs immediately started rattling of stats. 

“Male, around forty. Single GSW to the right chest. No exit wound. Partially collapsed lung. Extreme blood loss. One unit of O-negative administered during transport. Patient has been in V-fib for five minutes. O2-stats are down.”

“OK, he needs to be in surgery NOW! Move it people.”

Maddy jumped on the gurney and took over performing CPR from the tired EMT. As they sped down the halls to the operating room, Maddy vowed to not let that man die. Not without a fight. And by the looks of it, it was going to be a tough one.

 

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Harold had been sitting alone in the private waiting room at New York General for hours. Occasionally a nurse would stick his head through the door asking him if everything was alright and if he needed anything. Every time Harold would mumble something along the line of “I'm fine” and politely shake his head.

Five hours and still no word. That could mean good as well as bad news. He'd given up on trying to distract himself with his laptop after about an hour and a half into his vigil. Ever since then he just sat there, staring.

Sometime after the last time the nurse had poked his head in he must have dozed of in a very uncomfortable sitting position. He startled to awareness as the doors to the waiting room opened and a very tired and exhausted looking Dr. Enright entered the room. Harold stood up in apprehension.

“Harold.” she smiled at him and immediately a heavy weight was lifted of his shoulders.

“Maddy.” he said in way of greeting and somehow managed to load her name with the question that was foremost on his mind.

“Mr. Rooney made it through surgery.” she informed him. The doctor could see how the tension lines in Harold's face disappeared and the beginnings of a relieved smile starting to tug at the corner of his mouth. She felt sorry for having to dampen his relief, but he needed to hear the truth about his friend's condition.

“He's not out of the woods, yet. Not by far. It was touch and go there for a while and I have to admit I'm surprised he made it this far.”

For a while it really had looked like Maddy was going to loose the fight for John Rooney's life. He had gone into cardiac arrest three times while on her table and during the third time she'd nearly given up. But she stubbornly continued shocking his heart over and over until, finally, it started beating again. 

“The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are going to be critical. If he makes it through the next two days his chances will improve drastically. Barring any complications he should make a full recovery.” Maddy knew what she just told him was a lot to take in and she watched him as he moved trembling hands up to rub his face.

“What kind of complications?”

Maddy sighed. “Mainly infection. And he's also at high risk for pneumonia, which would be very serious with his lung capacity already diminished as it is.”

Harold nodded, realizing that there was still a lot of grounds for worrying. 

“He's being moved to a private room as we speak. We'll keep him in a medically induced coma for the time being to give his body a fair chance at healing.” By the word 'coma' Harold's face fell and it took on an almost dejected expression.

“When can I see him?” he asked almost timidly. 

“I'll have a nurse get you when he's settled in.” Maddy put a sympathetic hand on Harold's shoulder and squeezed gently. “He's a fighter, Harold. He's come this far. I don't think he'll give up now.”

Harold clamped his mouth shut, not trusting his voice right now and nodded again. 

“After you go see him try to get some rest. You won't help him by running yourself into the ground.”

“I will.” Harold agreed with no real intention of keeping the promise. They still had a number that needed taking care of. But first he had to see with his own eyes that John was still alive. “Thank you, Dr. Enright.”

Maddy nodded and squeezed the tired man's shoulder once more before turning around and leaving him to his own thoughts.

 

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Even though Harold had tried to prepare himself he was still shocked by the sight that greeted him at entering John's room.  
Surrounded by a bunch of monitors and other medical equipment John looked unnaturally small despite his 6' 2" frame. His chest was covered with thick bandages and most of his too white face was obscured by the tube of the ventilator rhythmically forcing air into his lungs. The room would have been deadly silent if it hadn't been for the beeping of John's heart beat monitor and the hissing of the ventilator. 

Harold was overcome with conflicting feelings. His almost violent dislike of hospitals instilled the need for him to leave this place as fast as he could. On the other hand he felt the need to stay and keep watch over his friend as he knew John would do if it had been him in that bed. He was saved from his dilemma by the nurse, who informed him before she left that he could only stay for then minutes. 

He pulled a chair closer to the bed and stiffly sat down. “John?” he paused, not quite sure of what he was doing. “I'm not sure if you are able to hear me, but the boy is save. Carter got to him.” Unsurprisingly there was no reaction coming from John, but Harold felt that John needed to hear that the boy was indeed saved.

“You know hospitals make me uneasy. But take all the time you need to heal.” Harold cracked a smile. “I will even let you rest up this time. I promise … don't worry about the numbers, I'm sure the Detectives can handle them for a while. You just get better ...” trailing off he fell silent and most of the remainder of his time he spent watching John's chest mechanically move up and down accompanied by the whooshing sounds of the machine keeping him alive.

Just before he was asked to leave he strategically positioned a small surveillance camera in the room. Knowing that now he could keep an eye on John whenever he wanted and as long as he wanted made leaving him behind a little easier.

By the time Harold reached the library he was bone tired. But he still had work to do concerning their latest number. He called up the hospital surveillance feed from John's room on one monitor and got to work on the remaining four, with Bear's head comfortingly back on his thigh.


	9. Chapter 9

The following morning Carter dragged herself into the precinct early. Sleep had eluded her for most of the night and she'd been checking her phone constantly for missed calls or messages. Finally giving up on sleep altogether she got up and got ready for work. The bull-pen was still pretty much deserted at this early hour. Only one desk was already occupied, proofing that Lionel Fusco's night had been less than restful, as well. "Morning Fusco." she greeted him.

Fusco startled, having been lost in his own thoughts. "Morning," he mumbled. He got up and beckoned her to follow him to an even more private area. Considering the emptiness of the bull-pen that action seemed to be redundant, but last night's events had raised both their paranoia levels. "Have you heard from Mr. Vocabulary?"

She shook her head "No. I take it you haven't either?"

This time it was his turn to shake his head. "Should we be worried?" he asked.

"I don't know. It _is_ Wonderboy we are talking about, right?" Joss tried to lighten the mood but judging by the grimace on Fusco's face she knew she hadn't succeeded. "How is Lee?" she inquired instead.

"A little shaken, but OK. Kids bounce back quick, ya know? Explaining to his mother why he didn't come home after practice last night without mentioning the 'K'-word? That, I tell you, wasn't easy. A few more minutes and we'd have had an AMBER alert on our asses."

Joss winced. That would have been just the icing on the cake. "What _did_ you tell her?"

"I didn't really tell her anything. Not like I got a word in, anyway. I just kept apologizing for a million time. "They fell into silence for a few seconds. Fusco was the first to voice what was on both their minds. "I can't believe he might be dead. That … that _I_ killed him."

"You don't know that, Lionel. I'm sure he's going to be fine."

Lionel shot her an unbelieving look. "You did see how the guy looked when they took him away, right?"

"Please, don't remind me." Joss forcefully shook the image out of her mind's eye again. "Any ideas how HR knew about the meeting?"

Lionel's face darkened. "Those bastards put a tracking device on my car. I found it last night after dropping off Lee at his mother's."

That explained how the goon had found them. Carter made a mental note to check her car, as well, to be on the safe side. But since she had been able to sneak up on the guy last night it looked like that so far she hadn't shown up on HR's radar. Still, there was enough reason to get even more paranoid. "But how did they ... he know you and John were going to meet _last night_? We didn't even know about the meeting until an hour before."

Joss had tried to come up with an explanation all night only managing to get a headache instead. Even if HR had bugged Fusco's phone, _she_ had received the call last night on the burner phone John had given her and nobody knew about. It just didn't make sense.

Fusco let out a breath. "I talked to Lee after he'd calmed down a bit last night. You know, trying to figuring out what that son of a bitch did to my son." He shook his head. Anger and bewilderment fighting a battle over his expression. "Apparently, it was dumb luck." 

Carter creased her brow. "What do you mean?" 

"What I mean is, he grabbed my son after Hockey practice with the intention of using him to force me to take him to Wonderboy. I don't think he knew about the meeting. He just followed me and took advantage of the situation. At least that's what I deduced from what Lee told me. _Friggin' dumb luck_." By now, anger had won the battle. 

For a few seconds Carter just gaped at him. Bewildered she asked, "So, what are you gonna do about HR, now? 

Lionel snorted, "Hell, I don't know. They crossed a line, that's for sure." 

The bull-pen started to fill up with potential eavesdroppers, so Joss patted Fusco's arm in support and moved over to her own desk. She really didn't feel like it but she started working on her paperwork anyway. Out of curiosity she checked to see if any reports were filed last night that could have anything even remotely to do with what happened in that damn alley. But no bodies with unexplained bullet holes had yet shown up, as well, as no reports on victims with mysterious GSWs being treated at any local hospital. Carter had no idea how he did it but it seemed like someone with a computer had been very busy last night. 

She was in the middle of her third report, her mind distracted by the tedious work, as the ringing of the cell phone Reese had once given her startled her. She glanced around inconspicuously before answering the phone. "Yes?" 

"Good morning, Detective." Finch's voice sounded tired and before he could utter another word Joss inquired urgently "How is he?" 

There was a short pause on the line, which made her heart sink. She glanced over to where Fusco was trying to look not to be too interested in her conversation and failed miserably. Apparently giving up on pretending he looked at her questioningly. She held up the forefinger of the hand not holding the phone, indicating that she yet had not received any information. "Finch?" she prompted once more. The man on the other end sighed. "He's still alive." 

"Thank God", Joss breathed and closed her eyes in relief. She was surprised at how much she actually worried about the man she, not so long ago, would have most gladly slapped into cuffs before he could have been whisked away by the ambulance. 

Finch continued on as if she hadn't spoken. "But I'm afraid he is not well." Another pause. Apparently Finch was mentally weighing up how much he should be disclosing of John's condition. Finally, he'd made up his mind. "The doctors say if he survives the next two days his chances of recovery will look a lot better. Barring complications he'll make a full recovery." 

"That's good to hear." 

"He's by far not out of the woods, yet, Detective." Finch said in a grave voice. 

"Is there anything I ..." Fusco cleared his throat across from her and she glanced up again, " _we_ ", she said pointedly, "can do?" 

"As a matter of fact, there is, Detective." And Finch explained to her what he needed them to do to help save another live. By now she'd given up on ever finding out how he got his information. All she knew was that so far it had always been solid. 

"Alright, we'll see what we can do. And Finch, we have a theory about last night." 

"Yes, I heard." 

"Of course you did." Joss said dryly, not even surprised anymore. 

Finch ignored her. "I've been checking into it. And except for that tracking device on Detective Fusco's car, I haven't been able to find anything else to explain how HR could haven known about the meeting ... As unfortunate as it sounds, but your theory seems to be the most plausible at the moment." 

Joss shook her head. "So, bad luck?" she said incredulously. 

"So it would seem. But I'll continue to look into it." 

Before Finch ended the call Carter made him promise to update her on John's condition regularly. 

"Your concern for our mutual friend is very touching, Detective."

"Well, you know, he grows on ya." 

"He certainly does ..." Finch said with a smile in his voice. "I'll stay in contact." Without saying goodbye the line went dead and Carter returned the cell to her pocket. 

"What did he say?" 

Taking a deep breath Carter proceeded to fill Fusco in on her conversation with 'Mr. Vocabulary'. "So? It's just back to normal?" Lionel asked amazed. "Can you believe that guy?"  
Joss just shrugged her shoulders. She knew that throwing oneself into one's work could act as a copying mechanism quite well. 

"There is nothing normal about those two and ...well, apparently the wicked never rest." 

"Yeah? Whatever." Fusco grumbled. He jotted down the name of Four-Eye's newest charity case and got to work on finding out whatever the hell the guy had gotten himself into, figuring that it was the least he could do. 


	10. Chapter 10

Awareness was slowly coming back to John. He fuzzily remembered that he'd come close to waking up a couple of times before, but it had always felt particularly unpleasant. So when he wasn't immediately assaulted by pain and nausea he decided that this time it might be save to actually stick around in the conscious world for a while. 

He was half sitting up in a hospital bed, though the room he found himself in did not look like a hospital room at all. Or maybe like a really expensive one, but John wouldn't know about that. His experience was limited to military hospitals or just some dingy hotel room in one forsaken place or another. There was an incessant clicking sound, but for the life of him John couldn't place what it was. And truth be told, he didn't care.

As he tried moving his head around John noticed something covering his mouth and nose. He sluggishly lifted his left arm to remove the offending object, but painful tugging on the back of his hand stopped the upwards movement prematurely. He stared dumbly at the back of his hand, comprehension dawning very slowly on him that he was looking at a tape covered IV-needle. That explained the warm fuzzy feeling and the blessed absence of pain. He must be on the good stuff. 

He noted that the clicking had stopped and he heard someone move towards his bed. Judging by the uneven steps, he figured that someone to be Harold Finch. John decided to blame the fact that he hadn't noticed that someone had been sitting only a few meters away from him on a combination of being drugged and on being just so very tired. 

Trying to get his other, IV-free arm to move was taking up all his concentration anyway and he had almost succeeded in removing the offending object on his face, when a hand clasped around his wrist, effectively putting a stop to his efforts with ease, since he was weak as a kitten.

“No, John. You've got to leave the mask on for now. It's helping you breathe.”

John turned his head in the direction of the voice. “Harold.” or at least that was what he meant to say. In the end the sound he was able to produce was more like an unintelligible croak. Boy, his throat hurt.

Harold must have noticed his struggle swallowing, because suddenly the O2-mask was lifted of John's face and a glass of water with a straw appeared in his line of sight.

“Here, try drinking a few sips.” 

The cool water felt like heaven as it soothed his hurting throat. “Thanks.” The croak resembled the word he wanted to say a little more this time. The O2-mask was placed back over his mouth and nose and John shot Finch an annoyed look. Though, he did have to admit breathing was a lot easier with it on.

“I'm glad to finally see you cognizant again … more or less” Finch added dryly as he watched John's eyelids beginning to droop.

John tried to fight off sleep at first. There were so many questions he wanted to ask Finch, if only he could remember exactly what they were. 

“Just go back to sleep, John. You're safe here. Everything else is being handled. Your only mission now is to get well.” Finch's soft and soothing voice worked miracles in lulling him back to sleep. 

 

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Harold watched John sleep for a while, not caring how it might be conceived as a tad creepy. He was just so damn glad to see his friend finally getting better. John had them all seriously worried there for a while. 

Although he'd made it through those first critical forty-two hours, Harold's plans of having him moved to a private and newly acquired care facility were crossed by John developing a serious case of pneumonia. For a week John's life hung by a gossamer thread and there was nothing Finch, even with all his money, could do, but watch him slowly slipping away. By the looks he caught the nurses and doctors exchanging with each other it was unmistakable that they were sure John Reese was a goner. But he proofed to be more resilient than anyone expected. As by some miracle his condition stabilized and he was finally able to breathe more or less on his own Finch had John moved. 

His search into how HR had been keeping tabs on the Detectives, or rather on Detective Fusco, had yielded nothing except the tracking device on Fusco's car. He'd even dropped by the precinct in his office-supply-repair-man uniform and discreetly scanned the place for bugs, only finding his own.   
As much as he wanted to doubt the 'dumb-luck' theory, there was just no evidence to contradict its validity. He also highly doubted that any HR goon would be smart enough to cover their tracks so thoroughly that he wouldn't be able to find any trace of it. It all left him with an uneasy feeling that he couldn't shake. If he hadn't been paranoid before ... well, he certainly was now.

For another week John's body slowly recuperated from the double ordeal of first having been shot and then almost drowning from his own body's fluids. All the time Harold had kept an eye on John, even when he was out in the field working a number with the Detectives or making an appearance in the life of his alter ego Harold Wren. He did so by accessing the surveillance feed he'd installed in the room John was now resting in. 

The Detectives had both been surprisingly cooperative and compliant with his requests. Especially Detective Fusco grumbled a lot less than usual lately. Harold wouldn't go as far as to calling him eager, but still, he noted the difference. Now he was just curious how long he was going to be able to exploit the Detective's guilty conscience.

To say the least, it had been two very exhausting weeks for Harold. He couldn't remember the last time he had a full night's sleep. His body had been stiff and sore, but he couldn't get his mind to shut down and just rest. But now, the relief of knowing that John was finally on the mend let the tension he'd accumulated over the last two weeks leave his body like hot air out of a balloon. 

He checked his laptop once more just in case anything new had come up, but today's number had already been taken care of and there was nothing left for him to do. Or at least nothing his befuddled mind could think of.  
In the end he didn't even remember making his way to the guest room, but he really didn't care. His body ached for sleep - real, deep, restorative sleep. He'd drifted off even before his head hit the pillow.


	11. Chapter 11

_Four weeks later_

Detective Lionel Fusco sat at a corner booth in a small café nursing a cup of black coffee. He'd received a text from Four-Eyes to meet him here. Frankly, he was getting tired of being ordered around by that ungrateful little man, but he guessed he kind of owed him after nearly killing his fun-less henchman.

Lately, after figuring out that HR had been tracking him by a device attached to his car he found himself looking over his shoulder even more than before and he could feel the stress getting to him. He needed a vacation, Lionel mused, from HR and Mr. Vocabulary and Mr. Happy. Even though the later was still MIA. 

He was startled out of his beach daydream by a tall figure in a dark suit sliding into the seat across from him.

"Hello, Lionel." 

"Jeez, give a guy a heart attack, will you?" Lionel groused. 

John just arched an eyebrow but otherwise remained silent. Lionel took a good look at the man opposite him. He still looked a little sickly. His skin was still a tad too pale and he'd definitely lost quite some weight. 

"I didn't know you were up and about again."

"Are you disappointed about that?" Reese inquired in a tone he especially reserved just for making Detective Fusco squirm and was pleased to see that he hadn't lost his touch. 

"No! No ... I mean", Lionel stuttered. "I'm actually glad to see you're ok. Honestly."

"I'm touched, Lionel." John smirked.

"Yeah, well, I won't deny that I fantasized about shooting you a few times, but the real deal wasn't as enjoyable."

Reese frowned. "That's ... good to know, I guess." 

"But seriously, what are you doing here? Your boss said that you would be out of commission for at least another two weeks or so."

John fiddled with a napkin for a couple of seconds before clearing his throat. "Apparently I'm a bad patient."

Lionel couldn't stop the snort, even if he'd wanted to. "Well, there's a shocker." and John shot him an annoyed look. Fusco took advantage of the following silence to empty his cup of coffee while Reese let his eyes roam over the interior of the café - ever the watchful. 

Lionel took a deep breath to gather his courage. He wanted to get a topic off his chest he'd been carrying around with himself ever since John got shot. Ever since _he_ shot John. 

"Listen, John ..." 

John's gaze slowly travelled back to Lionel's face. "Yes?"

"I just ... I wanted to apologize for ... you know." Fusco gestured awkwardly between himself and John. "And also to say thank you ... for what you were prepared to do to save my boy's life. You could have taken me out any time, but you didn't. I ..." He didn't know what else he could say to express the depth of the gratitude he felt.

John just tilted his head to the side and looked at Lionel with his intense eyes. Maybe he was trying to gauge the sincerity of Fusco's statement? The intensity of John's scrutiny made Lionel look away, somehow finding the coffee remains in his cup rather fascinating. If Reese didn't want to acknowledge his apology, then fine. At least he offered it.

"How are things with HR these days?"

"Huh?"

"I said ..."

"I know what you said." Lionel interrupted John. The last time he'd spoken to his HR contact Fusco had been livid and he had had a hard time trying to control his anger. His urge to strangle Simmons almost taking over.

"I told them that I would bury them regardless of what might be brought to light about my part in their sordid operation if they ever touched my son again." Fusco bristled. Coming to think about, he was still furious. If he had to deal with these jokers never again ... well, it still would be too soon.

"I'm glad to see you finally developing a backbone, Lionel, but I need you to smooth things over. You just have to be more careful from now on, Detective."

Fusco grimaced. He'd figured as much, but still, he didn't have to like it. “And how do you suppose I'll go about that, huh? They are not too particularly happy with me at the moment, either. Especially after I told them that I took their guy on a ride to Oyster Bay.” Practically hissing the last part Lionel had to look away again, or he might end up saying things that he was most likely going to regret. 

John squinted his eyes and leaned his torso over the table, effectively moving closer to the Detective.

“I'm sure you'll find a way." 

Fusco turned to look at John, feeling even more intimidated by the sudden closeness of John's face to his own. He couldn't help but stare into the other man's eyes. The intensity there almost knocked the breath out of his lungs.

"You know I will have your back, right?" John's voice was low but left no doubt that he meant what he'd said, making it sound more like a promise than anything else. Lionel swallowed down hard. Reese's declaration of support was something he had definitely not expected to hear. Especially after what had happened. He nodded dumbly. "Yeah."

Reese leant back in his seat and actually smiled. "Good."

Confused by the sudden change in mood and by being faced by an actual smile, not by the usual sneer disguised as one, Fusco's anger deflated. 

Lionel sighed in resignation and asked, "So ... we're good?”

John's smile turned back into his trademark smirk. "Let's just say, we're not worse than before."

Lionel snorted. He'd take it. Having tried to kill John Reese twice already - voluntary or not - he figured he could count his lucky stars to still be able to tell about it. And with his kneecaps intact, at that. “I'm glad we cleared that up.” 

“Me, too.” With the conversation apparently drawing to its end, Reese got up from his seat. But before he left, he braced himself on the table with his left arm and leaned once more into Fusco's personal space. “See you around, Lionel.” He whispered, sounding more like his usual threatening self again.

Fusco watched John Reese leave until he disappeared into the morning crowd outside. 

"Wouldn't wanna have it any other way." he mumbled under his breath as he got up, as well. He tossed a few bills on the table and collected his coat from the bench.

As he stepped out onto the sidewalk he took a moment to enjoy the day's first rays of the winter sun warming his face. A small smile started to unconsciously tug at his lips. Somehow, despite all the crap he had to put up with ever since Wonderboy had first dumped a dead body in his trunk, the day ahead didn't look so bleak anymore.

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it. Thank you all for reading. Please, feel free to tell me what you think about this story - constructive criticism is always welcome.


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